This weekend I did something that surprised me—I put together a partial nursery. It surprised me because I swore early on that I wouldn’t. I thought it’d be too painful or that it’d only get my hope up. But what I’m learning is that getting excited about Bo is part of my coping mechanism.
As with anything, when I get excited about something I want to plan. If I’m going to Disney World I’ll spend the weeks before just looking at pictures, reading blog posts, listening to Disney music. I do this with everything, and that includes having a baby.
While the painful memories of packing up Jack’s belongings are still very present, I actually regret that I didn’t have more ready for him. Yes he was my first child, and I had no clue what I was doing. But I find myself feeling guilty that I wasn’t as ready for him as I should have been. And maybe that’s why I feel a little guilty for having so much for Bo already.
On the flip side of that, I feel like I’ve been pregnant for two years (because I have). Almost exactly (within a few days of now) two years ago we got pregnant with Jack. For two years I’ve been pregnant, postpartum, and pregnant again. Yet I have no baby in my arms. For two years I’ve looked at baby things, read blogs, tried out samples, etc., all for the children that I was physically carrying around inside of me. So I suppose it’s only natural that I’m more prepared for Bo—I’ve literally researched baby gear for over three times the length as the average pregnant woman.
I think it’s also been therapeutic for me. At times I wondered why on Earth I decided to refurnish two dressers, but then I realized how at least for a week I wasn’t constantly worrying about something to do with the pregnancy—I was too busy thinking of what supplies I needed or what else I could do to the pieces. And in the end, I was extremely proud of the work I had done—the work I completed for my child. And while I still feel guilty for not doing something similar for Jack, I also have to realize that he is why I am doing this. He is making me a more informed, a more compassionate, and more prepared mother. His greatest gift to me was not only making me a mother, but positively transforming how I would mother his siblings.